Author: lindsay

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India Travel

I fought with the A/C, and lost…

In the past, when traveling to a new place, Kev and I have splurged and opted for the extra fancy amenities. Now, mind you, besides a bed with (what we’re hoping are relatively) clean sheets, and a private toilet of some kind (you never know just how handy that might be!), every living situation we have truly ever stayed at is meager at best. BUT when we just arrive somewhere, we might opt for a room with A/C – just to get acclimated, you know?

Well, our arrival here was no different. We chose to go all-out, and with our rickety double bed, “clean” sheets and private bathroom, we went for the A/C. Great choice. Upon arriving in Mumbai at almost 11 pm it was 84 degrees. We’d be happy to have it.

After a rough night of sleep our first night due to myriad issues (incessant honking outside, torrential downpour thanks to the lovely monsoon season, dogs barking, overall jetlag, and various unfamiliar noises, we also had to struggle with our unbelievably loud air conditioner unit. When turned on, old man A/C was noticeably agitated having to work so hard to cool our tiny sweat-inducing room. Grumbling, moaning – coughing with frustration, hour after hour he bitched and moaned about being needed.

Yesterday turned out to be a pretty rough day on the streets as well for us. After waking up close to 1 pm, we finally ventured outside to exactly what we knew to expect, and worse. A simple task of finding me a suitable outfit to wear (after finding a place online just minutes from our guesthouse, securing GPS coordinates, and feeling fairly confident that we could find our destination just .1 miles away) took over 2 hours, with nothing to show for it. A trip to check out the Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminu train station to learn how to purchase tickets to get South turned in to a comical 3-hour scavenger hunt to find various individuals responsible for the acquisition and approval of various applications by various people which were needed AFTER the purchase of our (quite expensive!) tickets (that we weren’t ready to even purchase).

“Please, sir. Yes, yes. Just go there and find Department Manager of Operations at the end of platform 1, CCM Building 2nd floor….yes, yes. You will find him.”

*On second floor at the end of platform 1…*

Us: “Namaste. CCM Building?”
“Oh no, sir. Not here. CCM building on 2nd floor! (then motions outside, beneath us and down the street) In ancient building. You will see.”

seriously?
—
“You need to submit application for coupe.”
Us: “What type of application? We don’t have an application?”

*rips off giant hunk of random scrap paper*
“This is your application, sir. Write these things and give application in box. Does not need to be formal…”

guess not!

IMG_0398

3 hours of this craziness and more. This, along with cows, limping dogs, scrawls of families, bright colors, dim lights, blaring Bollywood music, dirt, garbage and monsoon rains in open air train terminal. On some level, all stuff we have seen traveling before – but yet so. so. different.

6,000 questions later, 300 wrong places visited, and our application finally submitted – we left on the verge of tears coupled with crazed, maniacal laughter. It was exhausting and frustrating and hilarious at the same time. Again, exactly as we expected, yet worse.

Needless to say, I was really looking forward to getting back and having a rock-solid night of sleep. If there’s anything I know about myself, sleep is paramount to a successful day for me. So we crawl into bed and within minutes, I’m wiping off the slime that has accrued all over my face. With old man A/C turned on, we attempt to ignore his grumbles without avail. On and off. Off and on. Beady sweat, face slime, on. Grumble, grumble BITCH, off. All. night. long.

So, now, here I am, awake – writing and reflecting on our last 24 hours at 6 am, when sleep is what I want most. Old man A/C, you win. I suppose though, this has given me a chance to nail down more specifics about our day…

On the docket today are the following tasks:

1) Purchase salwaar kameez to wear
2) Check out Fort (our current “neighborhood) and visit Eros theatre to watch Bollywood film with new friends
3) Head to Girgaum Chowpatty to watch sunset, and witness dunking of Lord Ganesh idols into Arabian Sea to end Ganesh’s Birthday celebration

Sounds feasible (and pretty fun), right?

Here’s to another (in the words of our new British friends) MENTAL day!

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how i met vi.

a few days ago, while paroosing the second-hand book shop, i happened across a compilation of short stories by Paul Auster. well, not actually, “by” paul auster (which is too bad, because i love that man) but rather by 183 americans who decided to write NPR with a small anecdote about their lives to be read on NPR’s This American Life (which just so happens to be my very favorite of all NPR programs). naturally, without any hesitation, i bought it.

needless to say, the last few days i have been savoring the random tid bits my fellow countrymen and women have chosen to share with the rest of us. at the end of every story is the author’s name and where they live. i have been dreaming up crazy stories about what they might be like after reading just a tiny fragment of their life. i feel oddly connected to these people whom i have never, and most likely, will never meet. but, i suppose that’s what the book is all about. i have read stories about love, war, dreams, and even about a chicken who knew how to let himself in a screen door by himself. while they’re not all poetic masterpieces, they are especially poignant and in my opinion, time very well spent reading.

so, i have been carrying this book everywhere. on the bus, on the skytrain, everywhere. yesterday kevin decided that a trip to Pantip Plaza (a 3 story building solely devoted to selling electronic goods of every kind) was in order. not surprisingly, i declined and let him do his nerdy gadget shopping independent of his naggy “kevin, are you ready yet?!” girlfriend. instead, i thought a trip to Lumpini Park (one of our favorite hangouts) sounded nothing short of perfect. i could people-watch, read by the water, and just lay around under the shade of one of it’s many trees. so, we went our separate ways, and i headed down to the park. i cannot begin to tell you how amazing my afternoon was. lounging under this giant tree, water rushing by, people jogging, temperature at a balmy 70ish degrees…and my book…it was perfect. i was laughing, crying, and overall just totally immersed in the richness of these stories.

a few stories in, i started to read about a girl who’s day was going totally, and completely wrong. she was trying to make it across country for a funeral, during which she got on the wrong expressway to the airport 3 times, left her credit card at the gas station, realized she had brought the wrong check book, used her last few cents to buy a lottery ticket (on accident) instead of to make a phone call (i dont totally understand how this happened, but it seems like both the lottery ticket machine and pay phone were right next to each other? strange.) and the list goes on. i must admit, that i was enjoying her misfortune, and was chuckling to myself throughout the entire story. it was quite well written. so, after recanting the entire story about her god-forsaken day, she writes, “it’s annoying when life seems to shit on you when you least expect it.”

end of story. i smile.

just then, with this ridiculous grin plastered on my face, a pigeon shit all over me. and i do mean ALL over. all over my thighs, calves, feet and my hand. it is everywhere. so, here i am, covered in shit, book in left hand, shit on right, laughing out loud at how ridiculous this situation is. then, out of no where, this tiny 5’1 asian girl comes up laughing too, and hands me a kleenex. “i’ve been living here 15 years,” she said, “and you never can plan for when you’ll get shit on…and not just by the birds…”

and this, is how i met vi.

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we’re terrible bloggers.

so another picture post will have to suffice.
here’s what we’ve been up to (well, some highlights, anyway) since our last blog:

tubing down the mekong river in laos.


surprisingly, there were even ziplines and tree swings, which were AWESOME.
cuttie patootie.

we also volunteered at an organic farm.
here’s kev feeding and cleaning out the goat pen.

we also milked the goats and made goat cheese. it was deeelish.

then we went to this amazing waterfall.

we hiked up to the top (kev about freaked) and then went swimming in the rapids (not pictured).

then we traveled back to thailand for the last time!!! (chiang mai) and biked up to our favorite spot: the coffee village, which is about 30 km up the side of this amazing mountain. there aren’t any foreigners there, and it’s really just an amazing, unbelievably beautiful experience. we drank coffee (well, kev did), walked around the beautiful farm, and played soccer with a few of the guys that worked there. definitely a highlight of the trip.
i’ve decided i’m going to get on a co-ed team when i get home.
finally, as kev mentioned…i decided to run a marathon! so far, this is how i feel about it…

i have a feeling that my sentiments may change in a few hours.

dirk insisted that i needed to drink a lot of electrolyte drinks during the “training” process, which i personally hate and think are dumb. since there hasn’t been much (any) of a training process, i decided that one would be enough. here’s me enjoying my “electrolyte” (read: mcdonalds orange drink).


and finally, here i am with our crazy new german friends who talked me in to doing it to begin with. bridget and dirk, sporting our new spiffy special marathon shirts.

the bloody thing is in less than 10 hours, and i’ll be honest, i’m starting to freak a bit! kev and i are sitting in the internet cafe, biding time (he’s actually putting a bunch of podcasts and music on my ipod for my running enjoyment, such a sweetie.) before the big race! which, naturally won’t really be a “race” for me, but a “please god, let me finish it” experience. it starts at 2:00am and it’s supposed to rain. surprise, surprise. thank you, bangkok, for having awesomely humid and amazing weather. oh, and because i’m one of the runners who figures it will take them more than 5 hours to finish, i am running with the elderly (women aged 65-80 and men aged 70-90 :)) i’m sure the grannys and pops
will kick my butt, but i can handle it. good for the ego.
gotta watch out for old people. their looks are deceiving.
regardless, i’m going to finish if i have to crawl my way to the finish line.
kev’s convinced that he has the hardest job, staying up for 8 hours, walking around looking for us, and taking pictures.
i’ll let you know if i live…or agree with him once the race is finished.
love and miss you all.
see you in (oh my god, less than a month!)
xxx
lgt
edited 5:37 PM POST race: i did it! and it was INCREDIBLE!!! although, my body is telling me (knees in particular) it wasn’t quite as “INCREDIBLE!!!” as i think it was. if i were just basing the experience on how my body felt, i would say potentially the “worst and most painful experience of my life.” but i’m not. i ran with a perfectly clear, “i know i can do this” mind, and it was without question one of the best experiences of my life. i seriously had a “runners high” the entire race (short of the last 3km, when i just wanted to see that finish line!!!!) i didn’t stop at all in the first 21km (1/2 marathon) and my time was around 2hr 15 min, which frankly, i’m pretty happy with. after km 20 though, i ran 2km and would walk for a while and start running again, and walk because my knees hurt so horrifically bad. but it was awesome. more than awesome. starting the run at 2:00 am in the king’s palace, surrounded by thousands of little old thai men and women (and a few young people, although i think i was one of the only (white) foreigners. the africans were ungodly fast, and passed me 2 hours after i had started (they started at 3:30 am) at the half-way point. naturally, they took the “golds” and “silvers” and “bronzes” etc, etc.
ahhH! running across bangkok’s largest bridge right at sunrise, watching the city wake up from the streetside, getting blessed by a monk (i think he was worried that my face was too red, and i might have a heart attack or something :)) and seeing kev at the finish line. amazing. i would do it again in a second….
well, maybe more than “a few seconds” 🙂
i’m starving, and kev and bridget and i are going to go rustle up some grub. one somewhat funny thing….at the end of the race, they handed out 2 mcdonalds burgers for ever finisher. isn’t that weird? at least a side salad seemed like maybe it would have been more appropriate.
regardless, i ate them both in less than 5 minutes 🙂
love you all.
cheers!
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noise.

ask yourself this question: what would you do if everything you heard…every radio, loud speaker, cell phone ring, supposed-to-be-entertainment-on-long-bus-rides “music videos,” EVERYTHING, besides the noise of incessant honking or rain patter, sounded like the beginning to “hopelessly devoted to you” on the Grease soundtrack?

(need a quick reminder? here you go: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DJpyG3PXoKw)

you’d kill yourself, right? well, let me assure you, i’m just about to my breaking point.

now, don’t get me wrong. i love grease. i love olivia newton john and idolized her snazzy black (p)leather getup. i know all the moves to “grease lightening” and have belted out “look at me, i’m sandra dee” (complete with motions) too many times to count.

“I don’t drink! (no)
Or swear! (no)
I don’t rat my hair! (eew)
I get ill from one cigarette! (cough, cough, cough)
Keep your filthy paws, off my silky draws! Would you pull that crap with Annette?”

love it.

i played that soundtrack front to back, back to front, over and over and over again. ask my parents. i was 10. i loved it. best christmas gift ever.

that said, there was one song too lame to ever listen to. this was clear to me at 10 years old, and the same holds true today. number 3 on the cd (fine, i just looked that up). skipped every time. i didnt want to hear about how painstakingly awful olivia’s breakup was, or how she could only ignore her heart for so long, and frankly, i don’t want to hear it now. please. let’s be honest. john travolta isn’t even all that cute. get over it. let’s get on to the more exciting things! lets rock out to the hand jive and forget all this sappy stuff, right?!

i know i’m sounding awfully cynical here. a real “debbie downer” on the breakup front. i know it’s unfair. hell, i’ve had my fair share of breakups (right kev? :))! i know what it feels like to be in misery over a man! (ha!) to be fair, as i’m sure many of you are familiar with, when you break up with someone you love you feel like the world’s gonna end. no. you WANT the world to end. all you want to do is sit, cry, and wallow in self-pity (alright, fine, maybe that’s just me:)). i don’t want anyone to tell me that it’s going to be alright. i don’t want to get up and go do something. i want to sit. cry. and wallow. oh, and listen to horribly sappy, horribly depressing music. like natalie merchant, or bonnie raitt’s “i cant make you love me.”

oh yeah. that’s a killer.
(and if it’s raining, thunder-storming, or just plain grey outside +10 pts).

we’ve all got our songs. phill collins (take a look at me now). the beatles (eleanor rigby). styx (babe). R.E.M. (everybody hurts). bob dylan’s (positively 4th Street). damien rice (every single song he has ever written). or my personal favorite, the postal service (nothing better).

(it seems that the rockers of the world really have this down pat.)

in the past, listening to ungodly depressing music puts the mess of jumbled feelings that i couldn’t (or didn’t want to) sort out to some sort of order. it made me feel better that someone, someone far more poetic or articulate than i will ever be, could pin-point my sorrow and could put words to it. someone understands. someone understands, and feels no shame in wallowing. you can indulge in your patheticness. yes, lindsay. you can. it’s alright. no need to feel guilty. it feels good. wallow baby, wallow.

friends of breakup-ees know that there really is nothing they can do for their friend in this state. the breakupee has extraordinary powers, complete with the ability to suck their friend (mother, father, brother, dog) into an enormous pit of all-encompassing quick-sand depression. all thebreakupee wants to do is be sad, and they have no qualms about taking hostages (as many as that may be) in their quest to immerse themselves in cheerlessness. everyone knows at this point, it’s better to just let the wallowing run it’s course and check in every now and again to make sure they’re not dead.

fine. i understand. i really do. it’s therapeutic. but PLEASE just answer me this. how does an ENTIRE COUNTRY of people all need to wallow ALL AT THE SAME TIME (ALL THE TIME)!?? that’s all i want to know.

it’s been raining here for the last 36+ hours straight. nay, not raining (sound familiar :)), POURING. raining like i have never seen. apparently there have already been 20 deaths in hanoi (where we’re currently staying). i’m sure that is not helping my cause any. yesterday morning, i ventured outside around 2 pm, my hunger giving me strength, to find some bread for a breakfast/lunch/snack, only to find the water in the streets up to my thigh. it’s grey. it’s raining. it’s depressing. and the only sound to be heard short of the rain and honking, is that of “hopelessly devoted to you.”

i don’t know what it is about the viets. every single (i swear to god) music video kev and i have watched on tv (and the last few days, that has been A LOT) has followed this plot line.
boy likes girl.
girl likes boy.
boy and girl are happy.
another boy comes in the picture.
boy #1 gets dumped.
constantly sees girl with new boy.
boy very depressed.
lots of sad singing, distraught facial expressions and tears.
girl somehow dies…car accident (hit and run, runs into the car, in a car and is t-boned), terminal disease, suicide.
boy #1 is hopelessly depressed forever.

it seems people here like to wallow. which is fine, but i’m sick of going down with them.

where’s some bohemian rhapsody when you need it? somehow, that song talks about someone’s mom killing someone, and then killing herself, and STILL manages to be upbeat and dance-friendly!!!

in other, still noise-related news, i need to make quick mention to the loud speakers.

while the my list of faults seems to not only be endless, but also seems to be on display on our blog every other day, i must let you in on another. when i’m tired or hungry, i get VERY grumpy. if i remember correctly, i think kev has made mention to fearing for his life because i was overly hungry, and might beat him in an earlier post. this is not far from the truth, as many of you who know me can attest. i’m a terrible person. i cant help myself. that said. back to the loud speakers.

we are in the capitol of vietnam. a city where war propaganda posters still dominate every street corner. a city where many people wear military helmets accompanying their daily attire. although this is turning in to a somewhat “debbie downer” post itself (although i really do feel perfectly happy, albeit slightly agitated), i must say strictly for the chance to dictate thoughts, feelings etc per kev’s request, that the people here are rude. we’ve heard for however many miles now, that the further north we go, the less friendly people get. not wanting to get sucked into that mentality (we seriously have loved vietnam!!!), i didn’t think much of it. but as it turns out, it’s true. really, it makes sense. these really were the people we were fighting us in the vietnam war. seeing a white face, i’m sure can only bring about feelings of anger, frustration, and annoyance. sure. i understand. but i must say, i am tired of the unfriendly, unhelpful. unsmiley faces. okay. i digress. back to the loud speakers.

every morning, at approximately 6:05am-7:45am, the city’s loudspeaker BELTS out propaganda (and local news) about all kinds of things: war, birth control, abortions, civil disobediances, etc. now, i understand that this might be the most efficient way to communicate with members of their community. without access to many tv’s, the loud speakers can do the job tv commericals can, and at a fraction of the cost. but at 6AM?! REALLY?! i swear to god, if i wer
e vietnamese, i would do everything in my power to avoid listening to the government’s “news,” no matter what the cost. ear phones, ear plugs, ambient noise, a LOUD BEEPING ALARM CLOCK, ANYTHING would be better, than being woken up out of a wonderful, relaxing sleep to listen to the damn loudspeaker at 6am every morning. 6am is to early to do anything besides sleep. seriously people. and, as you might expect, not only did the loudspeaker happen to be parked right infront of my bedroom window, but at the beginning and the end of the “news” broadcast is the music. the hopelessly devoted music. what a way to start your morning.

finally. on far happier, and (i think) funnier note, 2 more tiny, itsy, bitsy stories, as this post is getting longer than is worth reading.

story number 1: the market.

two days ago, kev and i went on a mission to find dried squid to bring home as presents for all of you (suprise!). it, as i have mentioned, was raining cats and dogs, and i had neglected to bring my poncho. even still, i had managed to get to the market relatively dry, and was feeling quite proud of myself for doing so. (i was sliding around corners, crouching in small areas, dodging mopeds, really, quite ninja-like in my quest to stay dry). this market is a HUGE, strictly vietnamese market. i am not sure i saw one white person there the entire time. perfectly fine by me. disheartened about the fact that we could not find a place to have our favorite snack packaged to be brought home (sorry, i didn’t want to be smelling like a fish for the rest of our trip :)) i decided we should check one more place before heading home. since it’s pouring outside, kev suggests that we wait a second to see if it lets up a little. me, inpatient as always, say, “oh come on! we’ve made it all this way without getting that wet! i have mastered the art of tarp-running, and i know i can make it to that next one without getting very wet.” alright. so we’re off. i’m running, dodging things, and make it, no problem, to the tarp. i turn and smile victoriously at kev and am just about to say, “SEE?!” when i hear a loud RIiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiippppppppppPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP! i look up, just in time for the tarp above me to break. down pours the mornings rain (and other disgusting things i’d rather not mention) all over my head. kev was spared and as you can imagine, found all of this quite funny. the butt of yet another “the world is against lindsay” joke. the smileless hanoian people all seem to lose their frowns and are all laughing, staring and pointing at me, now soaking head to toe. i look down. shit. note to self: rainy days are not good days to wear a white t-shirt.

you go white girl.
story number 2: halloween.

this story is just pathetic. this is a story about nothing (GO SEINFIELD!) wearing nothing orange, black or costumesque. eating no candy, sweet snacks or carmel apples. carving no pumpkins. not even drinking a beer. just sitting in hanoi. rained in. watching THE SIMPSON’S HALLOWEEN MARATHON for like 3 hours straight before falling asleep by 9pm. we’re quite the cool cats. but couldn’t even manage to be the black kind.

story number 3: the most beautiful girl in the world.

the other day, i met a group of vietnamese teenagers while waiting for kev to get out of the internet cafe (surprise, surprise). we were chatting it up, and having a nice little conversation about how old they were, what their names were, where they were from, what they did in their city, etc, when one of the girls looks at me and says, “you know, you could be the most beautiful girl i have ever seen……if you didn’t have these….”

and points to a freckle.

classic. too bad freckles are now covering 2/3rds of my body.
there goes my aspiration of attempting for miss universe.

love and miss you all.
keep the noise down, please,
xxx
lgt

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a picture supplement (and slight addition) to kev’s previous (ridiculously long) post.

ho chi minh city, vietnam.

pictured below: tri’s family, waterpark, ridiculous traffic, snails, housing, ice coffee.
left to right: tri, tri’s mom, trang, dam.



(this one’s for you dad :))

dalat, vietnam. (the alps of SE asia.) ***incredibly, kev didn’t get this far in his blog post, so i’ll give a quick recap, although i’m sure another blogpost will be coming soonish. last wednesday, we jumped a bus from ho chi minh, and 14 hours later landed in dalat, an incredibly beautiful mountain city–unlike anything we have seen in the past 4 months. although the pictures can’t do it justice, it was amazing, and the temperature was, although a welcomed change from the standard sweat-dripping-out-of-your-eyeballs, COLD! as cold as it was in michigan, we found out later. sporting the only warm clothing i had (sweatshirt and zipoff pants) i craved a hat and gloves the entire time. it was THAT cold. we didn’t stay long, just enough to fill up on aritchoke tea (a local speciality), avacados and strawberries (the cool weather apparently was the perfect environment for growing crops) and to galavant through the mountains on a motorbike.
it was well worth the stop.

pictured below: local kids coming home from school, kid bundled in hat and gloves on motobike (i promise, it was FREEZING in the mountains), artichoke tea, and a beautiful cemetary.


nha trang, vietnam. *** from dalat, we jumped back on the bus, took off our sweatshirts, and another 7 hours later, landed in the sunny, gulf shores of vietnam, nha trang. pretty much the entire time we were there, we spoiled ourselves rotten. dirt cheap rooms, beautiful sunny days, an entire day of lounging around an organic spa (mud baths, mineral springs, beautiful swimming pool) for less than $4 a person (kev kept commenting on how soft his skin felt after. dont tell him i told you :)), and island hopping–snorkling, fresh seafood, and jammin to a live band singing “Proud Mary” on the boat (mom, i belted it out with them in honor of you :)).

pictured below: mud spa and island hopping, complete with freshly caught sea annenomes for lunch.


now, we’re already in hoi an, the tailor-making capital of (i swear to god) the world. there are over 500 tailor shops in this tiny town. i caved, and am having a coat made as we speak. i’m a sucker for “cheap” things. i’m sure there will be plenty of pictures to post of everything very soon. as you can see, it seems like we’re flying up vietnam (our month long visa is already expiring in 10 days!!!!) but haven’t had adequate time (or quick enough internet access) to stay up to date on everything we’ve been doing. vietnam is a LONNNNNG country. from here we’re heading to a city called hue, which is 6 hours away, and then to hanoi (the capitol) which is another 17 hours away, and THEN we have to get our butts over to the Laos/Vietnam border, which i can only imagine will take close to 24 hours. so. we have a lot to see/do, in not much time! i feel bad i haven’t had time to post stories (god knows there’s a few to share!), we just can’t seem to update quick enough! anyway, we’ll try to keep you posted as often as we can…and although we may not be able to call as much as we’d like, know that we are thinking about all of you everday, and miss you something fierce.
happy trails, and enjoy the fall colors for us.
xxx
lgt
p.s. kev uploaded like 17 pages of
new photos on flickr, if you feel like seeing a few more… 🙂 www.flickr.com/shoelessone <3 edit: i have total buyers remorse. surprise surprise. cute coat, but come on now. what was i thinking. too bad there’s no “return with receipt.”

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blood. money. and blood money (not really).

a few weeks ago while in phnom penh, i happened across an article talking about a man who has devoted his life to trying to help save cambodian children’s lives. through the article, i found out that every saturday, this man performs a concert, under the stage name “beatacello,” where he provides information on medical statistics in cambodia, and asks for money or blood donations to help keep the hospitals running, and blood available for those who need it.

(there is a chance i might get carried away here as i tend to do sometimes when i feel strongly about something.
i’ll try to be concise, but i’m not promising anything :))

in 1975 (during the war) this man, dr. beat richner (a perfect name for a cellist and doctor, wouldn’t you say? :)), came to cambodia with the red cross and has since spent his life trying to raise the money necessary to build hospitals for cambodian children throughout the country. since 1991, he has been able to help open 5 hospitals and a maternity ward in cambodia — all of which offer free services for their patients. during the concert, he spoke on some of the issues listed below….
* approximately 34% of Cambodians survive on less than $1US/day
* of a population of 13 million, nearly half are under the age of 15
* 51% of cambodian children are malnourished
* 1 in 7 children die before their fifth birthday – largely due to preventable causes
* the HIV infection rate in cambodia is the highest in SE Asia

beat was determined to provide every child who needed it access to full medical treatment, unhampered by corruption — a daunting task, but one he felt was achievable by offering fair wages to the entire staff… down to the people who clean the floors –something that does not happen here.* each year 75,000 children are hospitalized (average stay: 5 days)
* 800,000 ill children receive treatment in the outpatients department
* 400,000 healthy children get vaccinated
* 16,000 surgical operations are executed
* 12,000 birth in the maternity (designed to prevent mother-to-child AIDS and TB transmission)
* and 3,000 families daily receive health care education
ALL because of these hospitals. amazing, right? and as i mentioned before, all medical services are free of charge since the families in Cambodia are simply too poor to even make a small contribution towards these medical costs.


without Kantha Bopha, 3,200 additional children would die in Cambodia every MONTH.


we walked away, knowing full well we were unfortunately not in a position to help financially, but that we could give blood.

so we did.

this was cool, because we got to find out what our blood type was.
each of the 4 dots (i think) was being tested for a different type.
kev’s set was way prettier (type A+) and I was O…
whatever the case, mine was an ugly brown color, while his was a pretty blue.


i should say that the hospital was extremely clean, and we were given treatment just as we would in the united states. it was really quite an impressive outfit, especially when you looked out of the windows at the types of conditions surrounding the hospital.

without access to modern cooking amenities, the majority of cambodians still cook on ground fires. because of this a HUGE number of children who come into the hospital are burn victims, who fall into the fire (we have seen countless burned children since we’ve been here, and had no idea why until last saturday). since the roads are so terrible, and many are coming from the countryside, many children are in shock by the time they finally make it in, and need full blood transfusions. this was the first time i had ever given blood and i was amazed how simple and painless it was. i’m not a needle person, or a hospital person, or hell…a blood person, but it really was a piece of cake. it made me realize how something so simple could be so important.

although this blog is not intended for political purposes, if you feel you are in a position to help this hospital, and these people, i feel i should at least mention where you can get more information.
http://angkorhospital.org/default.php
http://www.fwab.org/help_donate.php

unbelievably, 85% of the funding necessary for these hospitals to run come from PRIVATE DONATIONS. the annual budget of the running costs is now 24 Million USD. less than 1 million comes from the cambodian government. yet, even still, Kantha Bopha’s relation costs/healing rate is one of the best in the world.

just something to consider.

6 million words later, just as i suspected, i got carried away.
love and miss you all.
a giant CHEERS for all the doctors and nurses out there…studying or professional.
xxx
lgt

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imma klutz (and other stories).

well, cambodia is everything we hoped it would be and more. as i’m sure my previous posts made clear, the first few weeks were somewhat trying, but since we’ve been in Siem Reap, things have been nothing short of awesome. kev and i both just finished up our first week of volunteering, which we both found to be extremely fulfilling (for lack of a better, less cheesy word). kev worked at a place called TrailBlazers, which builds really simple water filters for people in remote villages allowing them to have access to clean water. just to give you an idea…inside of a 2ft high, rectangular cement box, was the filtration media, which consists of a layer of gravel, a layer of course sand, and a layer of fine sand. there is a plastic diffuser plate above the water level to avoid disturbing a “bio-layer,” which holds key bacteria essential for removing biological pathogens and parasites found in the water. he woke up early every day and went and scrubbed out giant plastic containers, sifted sand and rock, and then washed the sand for the filters. it was quite a “grassroots” organization, but the work they were doing was quite incredible. with the most meager of supplies they were able to send these $45 filters off to villages for free, thanks to volunteers and a little hard (if not monotonous) work.

in the mornings (from about 9-12), while kev was at work, i hung around, went running and explored the city via bike. when he’d get home, we’d normally head to Lucky Supermarket, a new and very exciting edition to Siem Reap (it’s the only supermarket in the city, and opened our 2nd day here), to buy some of the cheapest lunch meat, bread and, on a day we felt like splurging, cheese, they had for lunch. by the time we cycled back to the guest house, and ate, i had to get ready to go to work myself!

i worked at a “school” teaching english to about 30 kids aged 5-17. i say “school” because the school really was nothing more than a roof, about 6 rows of homemade wooden tables, and a white board. a few weeks ago, the students were meeting at one of the temples near by, but the government has been cracking down, and forcing the schools to relocate in order to keep the temples available for tourists to visit. because of this, many schools have been forced to shut down, leaving many kids no where to study. thankfully for the students at this school, a nurse offered to “donate” the lower half of her house for the school to run. so, we met there. their teacher was a 19 year old cambodian student, who was quite possibly the sweetest, most dedicated teacher alive. she was given a small stipend by a local NGO to provide pencils, paper and food for the students, but short of that, she worked for free. many of her students are orphans, and until a few weeks ago, were living on the streets. since the house has been donated, many of the students now live at the school, all sleeping on the cement floor together under scraps of ratty clothes and burlap bags. their teacher lives with them, and along with her other responsibilities, now acts as their guardian — cooking, cleaning and caring for these 9 students. the school is open to the poorest of the poor children from the siem reap area. all can attend for free, and 95% of their families are making under $1 a day.
i cant even begin to describe how amazing these students were, and the kind of energy they filled me with each and every day. i have posted some pictures below so you can see their faces. from the pictures alone–never hearing their voices, or knowing their personalities–you will fall in love. it’s impossible not to. even though the kids were definitely spread out in age, they all played together during their game time, and seemed to genuinely care for each other. the older ones would sit by the younger kids and help them copy the words off the board to their notebooks, and help pronounce words they didn’t understand. if one student brought in a small bag of fruit for a snack, they would share with the entire group, even if it meant the kid who brought the food only got a small bite. it was truly incredible to see the way they understood the world. inspiring.

for more pictures go to: www.flickr.com/shoelessone
anyway, we’re off to go rustle up some grub.
it looks like i have a few more seconds…very quickly while kev’s uploading some photos, here are just a few things that have happened or i have realized this week….
· while running a few nights ago, i was jamming to christina augliara’s “aint no other man but you” and stepped in i swear to god, the smallest pothole i have seen in cambodia. go figure. figuring i could brace my fall in the split second before actually hitting the ground, i put my hand down, and managed to not only scrape my knees, elbows and chin, but also sprain my finger. as i’m sure many of you know, gracefulness was not a trait i inherited at birth. as you can imagine, my fall was definitely not elegant, attractive nor fluid. if the pain of the fall wasn’t enough, there happened to be a group of people riding down the street on their mopeds who were just close enough to see me wipe out. great. bloody knees, purple finger, and pride sore from embarrassment. not bad for a night’s run.
· i realized yesterday that i have not washed my only pair of pants since i have been here. they’re the zip off ones, so i feel like i’m wearing 2 different pairs on any given day. (yes, i know that’s not the case.) i washed them immediately after i came to this realization. dark brown cannot do the color of the water justice.
· speaking of my innately klutzy behavior, i must relay this, yet again, extremely embarrassing story. earlier this week, i met with a guy (who happened to be a monk) to learn some Khmer. it was a really funny, albeit awkward experience, but i walked away feeling like i learned a lot, and was really excited to start trying out some new words. needless to say, it’s very difficult to pronounce half the words with the letters used, let alone get the inflections right. sometimes they’re practically inaudible – at least to my untrained ear. but i tried my best (for instance, try pronouncing the word chngng anh. that is how the monk spelled “delicious” for me. like those lack of vowels? yeah, it drives me crazy too). anyway, my very first day at school (really, within the first minute or so), in an attempt impress her with some Khmer, i said, “hi there, how are you doing today?” instead however, i managed to ask if she had sex with her brother in front of the entire class. immediate uproar. completely unaware of what i had just asked, i sit there smiling, waiting for her response. while she’s getting noticeably uncomfortable, and trying to quiet her class down, she turns to me and says, “i think you should retry your question.”
looks like you can be klutzy without actually falling.
here’s hoping i’m not the only klutz out there,
xxx
lgt
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cambodian hodgepodge.

Tuol Sleng Prison, Phnom Penh.

room of tourture cells.

S-21 victim.

cambodian countryside.

phnom penh riverside.

Angkor Wat and surrounding temples.










RANDOM.
kevo gots a haircuts.

going for another shrimp plate at shabbi shu.

someone’s excited about their food…

elephants in the market.


avid bike rider. 49km yesterday! woo hoo!

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it makes me angry.

thus far, cambodia has been somewhat of a hard place to travel. not for any real reason, besides the pace is so much slower than Thailand, and the people seem so much poorer. we’ve been staying in Phnom Penh, and for the life of me, i can’t wrap my head around the fact that this is in fact a CAPITAL of a country. people beg on the streets all day, everyday. í know it could be just a gimmick, but it’s been extremely hard for me, knowing full well that no number of riel that we could possibly afford to give would really help all that much. it’s tiring. for the last few weeks, i have resorted to carrying around carrots and various other food items in my pockets to hand out to the street kids that beg for food (i would carry around a backpack chock-full of food, but we’ve recently heard about a large upsurge of bag-snatching, both in broad daylight and at night; in crowded streets and deserted ones alike. the victims are almost entirely western women riding in tuk tuks or on motorbikes, so i’m sticking to carrying stuff in my pockets! :)). giving money (or so i’ve heard) makes them extremely vulnerable to explotation, which is expected. it’s hard. Phnom Penh alone claims to house 40,000 street kids. 40,000! it makes me sad, frustrated, helpless and angry every time.
the other day, we visited Tuol Sleung Prison (s-21), which was about a block from our guesthouse. the prison was once a highschool which was converted into Cambodia’s most important and secertive prison in 1975. More than 14,000 people were tortured here before being killed at the Killing Fields south of Phnom Penh; only 8 prisoners made it out alive. what really made it disturbing for me though, was the fact that this prison is truly in the heart of Phnom Penh’s suburbia (if you could have ever called it that). apartment buildings and shops surround the walls of the old highschool, just as they would in any major city. the fact that 14,000 people were tourtured among streets bustling with street vendors, shop keepers and city residents blows my mind. it’s sick. really makes you wonder what’s happening in your own backyard. oh, not to mention that it happened almost within my lifetime. it’s one thing to read about hitler in history class. it’s another to see tourture rooms still stained with blood, the thousands of battered mug-shots on the walls, and the men and women, who could be my parents, on the street, knowing full well that they are probably survivers of a horrific genocide which happened less than 25 years earlier. it’s things like this i know i must see to truly know what a country is all about. it leaves a mark though, for the good or for the bad, and is something i know i’ll never forget. it makes me angry.

(i’ll post pictures when the internet connection isn’t so slow).

Stung Meanchey Municipal Waste Dump is located in southern Phnom Penh, in a district of the city of the same name, Stung Meanchey. it is a part of the city with low-income neighborhoods and slums. the dump itself covers about 100 acres, or almost 6 hectares. it’s flanked by private property on which rubbish pickers build makeshift huts and are charged extortionate rents by landowners. roughly 2,000 people, about 600 of which are children, live and work there. it’s nicknamed “Smoky Mountain” because of the miasma of smoke that the dump constantly gives off. It is literally on fire; the waste creates methane as it rots and the methane burns. in monsoon season and throughout much of the rest of the year, the surrounding area is swamped and the children live and play in fetid water.

most of the rubbish pickers at Steung Meanchey are either from Phnom Penh or came to Phnom Penh looking for work and ended up in the slums. many of the approximately 600 children have parents or relatives who also work on the dump and look after them. some of them go to school, but most do not – at least not on a regular basis -and it is safe to say that virtually none of them ever completes a primary school education. the school fees are too high and their families need them to collect rubbish to contribute to the family income. adults earn, on average, 4000 to 5000 riels (US$1.00 to $1.25) a day; children earn on average about half that amount. (source: The Centre for Children’s Happiness ) it makes me angry.
we’re leaving tomorrow for Siem Reap (home of the infamous, Angkor Wat) for a few weeks before we regroup, and go visit Tri in Vietnam, which frankly, we’re really looking foward to. i’m planning on volunteering at a school teaching English in one of the Angkorian temples in Siem Reap, which i’m really quite excited about. i’m calling the principal tomorrow to confirm everything, but it looks like it’s going to work out. i cannot wait to see how a classroom is run, and experience something new.
the internet joint is about to close, so i gotta jet.
love and miss you all. xxxlgt

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Welcome to Cambodia.

In a word: potholes. I wonder if that actually is supposed to be two.
Welcome, fellow readers, to Cambodia! A land of dirt, dust, smiles and POTHOLES! Our journey here was nothing short of hilarious. We left Thailand from Chanthaburi by minibus for an uneventful 2-hour trip to the Ban Pakkard/Pailin border on September 3rd. Much to our relief, we had no trouble getting our visas (horror stories can be found here: http://www.talesofasia.com/cambodia-overland-bkksr-reports1.htm), and after a “tip” for the border patrol guy, we were on our way. We jumped on the back of a moped (motodup) with two very smiley men –one with terrible cataracts, the other wearing a Julia Roberts’ Pretty Woman hat for the 50km trip to the city of Pailin. Awed by the National Geographic-esque countryside, I embraced the potholes and sent silent words of encouragement to my half-blind driver, mentally helping him avoid driving us into a ditch.

The one thing Cambodia has to offer right away is dirt. Red-orange dirt. Loads of it. I had read about this. Countless rants from countless travelers. Nothing I could have read though could have prepared me for just how ridiculous the dirt, coupled with the potholes could be. Hilariously ridiculous. Tears streaking my now orange cheeks, coughing uncontrollably, driver laughing hysterically -we pull into Pailin. We jump off, and the Julia wannabe explains in KhmerEnglish that he is going to find us a taxi to take us to Battambang, where we were planning on staying for a few days. Perfect. Turning around, we are surprised to see a whole group of people have assembled around us, laughing and trying to speak to us in broken English. Amused, we take out our tattered phrasebook, and try to indulge them by speaking some no doubt, terrible Khmer. Just as we had gotten past the formalities, Julia is back introducing our “taxi” driver.

This is where the fun begins.

Ami (that’s his name) is adorned in a full hunter green military getup, complete with terrible acne, pants tucked into black lace-up boots, a frown, and a military cap. After drawing the payment required for the trip to Battambang on the dusty window of his rusty Honda, he throws a cell phone in Kev’s face and says, “talk.” While I’m laughing with the other 20 people standing around watching this transaction take place, Kev, looking totally freaked out and annoyed, keeps saying, “what? Uh huh. Yes. What? I don’t…What? 1200 Baht? Yes. Yes….” while shooting me “stop-laughing-if-you-know-what’s-good-for-you” looks. (In my defense, no matter how hard I try, it seems Cambodian men refuse to do any sort of business transaction with women, at any time.) Finally, Kev hands the phone back and the man opens up the trunk. We throw our stuff in, say our “aa gohns (thank yous)” and jump in. Turns out, the guy on the phone wanted to be sure that Kev had actually given him 1200 baht to take us to Battambang. Fishy right? This was not a certified cab, and despite his military appearance, Ami was not a member of the military. Just a guy with some wheels. We were not on the road more than a minute when Ami’s phone goes off. Looking more pissed than ever, he pulls over and starts honking his horn relentlessly. Soon, a man appears at the window, and he hands him some money. No smiles. No thank you. No nothing. Just a debt paid. I think during our 3 hour trip, Ami’s phone went off 6 times. Which meant: 6 more headache-inducing honking sessions, 6 more unfriendly payments to 6 more unfriendly people, NOT on the way to Battambang.

Just after the first debt was paid, it started to rain. Nay. POUR. It’s funny to think back to when I complained about the rains in Thailand. Thailand doesn’t understand crap about rainstorms. They don’t have dirt roads. Or potholes. The best thing about the rain here is that even though the cars can hardly make it down the road without stalling out, and even though there are 10 year olds swimming up to their necks in the streets, there is still dust. There is still dirt. Not mud (although there is plenty of that too), but dust. I can’t explain it really. It’s one of the craziest things, but it’s true. Anyway, so there we are, driving along. Ami skillfully swerving around the road trying to avoid the potholes (well, every 3rd, anywayJ), my arm fat jigglin’ to a song I didn’t want to dance to. NOTE: There are a couple of things that tell a girl she needs to start doing some pushups. 1) driving down a Cambodian road. 2) doing the Chicken Dance at wedding parties. Let me just be clear. I did 20 pushups that night before bed.

So back on the road, we end up picking up a few more passengers. Naturally, with 6 bodies now packing the car, the windows start fogging up. It is still pouring rain. Pouring. The windows must all stay up to avoid drowning in the car. Now, I swear to god, you CANNOT see out of the windshield. The guy sitting on the stick shift is wiping off the condensation every 30 seconds for our irritable, sweaty driver. All you can see are black blobs slowly passing in front of your eyes. Oh! There’s a cow! Oh! There goes a truck! Oh! There’s a kid playing in the water!

We almost hit cars. We almost hit dogs. Chickens. Children. Even though Ami could see no better than my driver with cataracts on the first leg of the trip, he had one thing the first driver didn’t. A horn. Even though we couldn’t see a damn thing, we kept our 30km/hr pace, flying over potholes, gripping the safety handrails to avoid smacking ourselves into a concussion, horn wailing non-stop for over 3 hours, all while watching orange water fly over the top of our windows.

That is, until the car broke down.

Yes, a little transmission problem! That’s all! Stalled in the dead center of the road, everyone piles out of the car to stand by some cows, while a now seriously cranky Ami phones his brother to come pick us up. Luckily we didn’t have to wait toooo terribly long, and soon we were all loaded into his brother’s car. We left Ami with his rusty Honda in the middle of the road. Ha. Poor Ami. September 3rd was just not his day.

Anyway, the guesthouse we sought out was owned by an Aussie and his Khmer wife, who promised to be an open book for all the Cambodian questions one could ever think of. That sounded great to us, as we could hardly pronounce “hello” correctly at this point. Too bad he turned out to not be all that cool, and mainly seemed to be working us at every angle for more money. Just the same, the rooms promised A/C, which was quite welcomed after our hot and humid trip there. Just as bed is starting to sound nice (around 10pm) the power goes. Within 15 minutes I am literally dripppppping with sweat. I have slept in many a non-air conditioned room since we’ve been here. No problem. In fact, I can count the number of times we’ve had A/C on one hand. Trouble was, the man neglected to put screens on his A/C room windows –which was perfect considering we are in the Malaria capital of the world. Since we were too cheap to get Malaria pills at home, it wasn’t a risk we were willing to take, and our window stayed shut. So, I resorted to getting up every 15 minutes in attempts to cool myself down with a cold shower. It is so dark I truly can hardly feel my way to the bathroom. It’s kind of
scary. I get Kev. There we are. Laying on opposite sides of the bed, refusing to touch each other, window closed, in pitch darkness, sweat pouring out of every crevice on our bodies. Disgusting is the only real way to put it. After an hour of incessantly trying to ignore the heat and will myself to sleep, I am just about there. Floating above my body, aware that I’m still awake, but barely. It is at this point–3 in the morning, 5 hours since we lost power–that the worst possible thing happens. The manager’s 10 month old baby starts crying. Nay. Not crying. Wailing. The wailing of an over-tired kid who is so hot, and so sticky, and so uncomfortable that they couldn’t embrace sleep if they were knocked unconscious. I’m sure our parents can remember such a cry. Nothing you can do will make them stop. They just have to cry themselves into an even greater exhaustion until they fall asleep again. And that’s seemingly, just what his parent’s decided to let him do. 2 hours later, he finally stopped. 5-something in the morning, and a million cold showers later, I set myself back to willing myself to sleep.

The next morning, we woke up starving. Thankfully, the power had turned back on around 6:30am, so we got a couple hours of good, non-sweaty sleep. When we walked downstairs at 10am, we encountered quite the sight….
So an archaeologist, an English teacher, and a land mine bomb technician walked into a bar…

Sound familiar?

Long story short, we ended up partaking in a wonderfully drunken birthday celebration for a 68 year old British English teacher. The bomb technician worked for the government, and bought us COUNTLESS (read: too many) drinks. As it turns out, his truck had just run over a land mine an hour earlier, on the way to our guesthouse to buy his friend some drinks for his birthday, blowing it to pieces. He acted like it was a pretty common occurrence. Not too shaken up about it, crazy enough. Although we tried to fend them off, the man proceeded to buy us more “doubles” than one should ever drink, let alone at 10 am on an empty stomach. It was an awesome time. Story after story. Hour after hour. I kept pushing my drinks to Kev (he kept taking them every time I got up to pee or talk to anyone) and needless to say, by 5pm we were drunk. Very drunk. Kev though, was a little more than very drunk. It was hilarious. He maintained this goofy grin on his face for close to 4 hours, and kept babbling on about, “how great of an experience this was,”as only he could. For some reason, unbenounced to me, he decided to involve us in a late-night poker game with some of the regulars. Still drunk, he lost his money within 5 hands, while I managed to stay in for an hour or so before losing. Overall, it honestly was a really fun, if not a terribly unproductive day.

And now, we’re in Phnom Penh. I’m exhausted. There’s a lot to write about here, but I’m just too tired to do it now. I don’t understand why I always decide I should write a post late at night on this damn ipod. You’d think I’d learn.

On an entirely random note, I bet I almost step on 10 cockroaches on any given night. They’re everywhere. And big. Easily as big as a small gerbil. Not that I mind really. At least they’re not spiders.

Also my Crest toothpaste has about one more use left, and then it’s time for the no-brand Asian stuff. Again, it’s not a big deal, just weird to think about having been here long enough to have gone through an entire tube of toothpaste. And toothbrush, for that matter. My toothbrush is in rough shape. But that guy was in rough shape before I even got here. I like them broken in. Like, bristles flattened to the plastic, broken-in. That’s the best way. Plus, if you use it down that much, it makes getting a new one that much more exciting. Teeth brushing has always been a big thing for me. I like clean teeth. Over here, I find myself brushing them 3-4 times a day (which I know isn’t even good for them) because of all the dirt flying around. It seriously feels like the Wizard of Oz. Yes, if you can imagine the dust storm in the Wizard of Oz, coupled with rain, you can imagine Cambodia. By the end of the day, you’ve been crunchin’ on dirt particles for 10+ hours. For the orally fixated, it’s cheaper (and maybe healthier) than cigarettes or gum, I suppose.

Now that I’m thinking about it, I think my toothbrush may have brushed its last tooth. Tomorrow may be the day for a new one.

Hope the roads aren’t dusty where you are.
Miss you all.
xxx
Lgt